


Take These Broken Wings

by athena_crikey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU, Deformity, Disability, Drama, KageHina idiots in action, KageHina only if you squint, Longing, M/M, Nishinoya is a tease, Pining, Secrets, Suga is the best mother, UST, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: “I’m a man of mystery, Shouyou,” Nishinoya proclaims, thumbing towards his back. “What’s a man of mystery without a secret?”Hinata’s eyes sparkle. “Woooah, so cool!” He jumps up and double high-fives Nishinoya. The rest of the team roll their eyes as Hinata continues to babble about how awesome his senpai are.Asahi, standing off to the side, wonders:what secret?
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 429





	Take These Broken Wings

The first thing people notice about Karasuno’s libero is his height. At 5’2” he’s the shortest member of the team, a huge presence compressed into a tiny body. Despite his stature he dominates the backline, fierce and vocal, seeming to occupy a space larger than himself. Larger than even the tallest members of the team.

The second thing they notice is his wings. Or rather, their absence. 

There’s no rule about it; it’s simple convention that players keep their wings manifested throughout play. Like most sports, volleyball allows a one-beat use, an addition of nearly a meter in height to jumps by the most skillful players. Of course, the feathered appendages add drag as well, and a burden in dives and close-quarter play. But generally, most teams believe the benefits outweigh the disadvantages. Even liberos play with their wings manifest.

It makes Nishinoya an oddity, but he won Best Libero in Miyagi in middle school without them, so no one complains.

Asahi still hears the whispers though, feels the stares as he stands on the court with Nishinoya. 

_The pipsqueak’s bare-back._

_Shouldn’t he have his wings out?_

_What’s with that play style – it’s bizarre!_

Nishinoya never seems to hear, which unlike his play style _is_ bizarre because Nishinoya overreacts to any other perceived slight. He’s hyper-reactive and hyper-aggressive, scrappy like a junkyard dog. 

Asahi’s never asked him about his strange preference. It doesn’t affect his play, and it’s not a requirement, and Asahi doesn’t like to dig into potential bones of contention. The first time, in fact, that someone asks him head-on, Asahi’s a little shocked.

It’s Hinata, of course. The boy has the social graces of a wild boar. Asahi’s just rejoined practice in preparation for the Nekoma game, his first real practice with the new first-years. Nishinoya’s in fine form despite his one month suspension, diving and rolling and digging balls like a pro. 

“Hey Noya-san,” says Hinata, after Nishinoya pops up from a long-reach dig, “what’s up with your wings?”

“What about them?”

Hinata’s own bright orange feathers shiver as if in anticipation. His wings are short and blunt, more like a sparrow’s than a swallow’s; they have an immense power to propel his slight form forwards and upwards. Hinata purses his lips, puzzled. “Well, I mean… where are they? You never use them.” 

Nishinoya shrugs easily. “Don’t need ‘em. They just get in the way when I dive, and if I have to roll I could crush ‘em.”

“Yeah, but don’t other liberos use them? Isn’t it a disadvantage?”

“Noya-san won best libero in middle school!” interrupts Tanaka loudly. “Don’t underestimate him!”

Hinata’s eyes widen. “Whoa, really?”

Nishinoya grins widely. “Sure did. Liberos don’t serve, and they don’t spike. What do I need wings for?”

“Huh.” Hinata tilts his head to the side, considering. “I guess so.” 

“Damn right. Besides, most of the penalties in volleyball are wing-related. I’ve never gotten one.”

“Hmm.” Hinata turns to Kageyama. “Maybe I shouldn’t use my wings either!”

“Dumbass. You’re a middle blocker. You need that height. And you’d be meters below everyone else without ‘em.”

“Enough chit-chat,” shouts Daichi, from the other side of the court. “I’m serving!”

“Reel ‘em in, Ace,” says Nishinoya, pushing Asahi’s nearer wing closer to him. Asahi blinks, warmth spreading through his wingtips, but draws them into a defensive stance, folded close behind him. 

Play begins.

  
***

Touching someone else’s wings isn’t forbidden, but the etiquette is complicated. Wings are highly sensitive and also delicate; usually, touch is restricted to intimate moments or accidents.

Of course, Hinata and Kageyama break all the rules. The two are always knocking into each other, scrabbling at each other’s feathers and shoving each other’s wings out of the way. Sometimes, rarely, they stop scrapping long enough to give a soft squeeze to the joint after a great play. But they’re both idiots, and Asahi ignores them. 

He once caught Daichi and Suga in the gym’s equipment closet, the team captain slipping his fingers through the vice-captain’s silky grey coverts; he still remembers the blissful expression on Suga’s face. He had turned and fled immediately and never spoken of it, although their closeness is an open secret. 

Neither experience helps him know how to deal with Nishinoya touching him, though. The libero does it casually, like it’s no big deal. He never strokes or combs Asahi’s feathers, never does anything _inappropriate_. But he does seem to like grabbing onto the narrow peak and raise it into the air like a banner, or giving the tip a friendly shove, or ducking beneath the ends of the primaries and catching his spiky hair on the tips. 

He doesn’t do it with anyone else, and although there’s clearly nothing to read into the libero’s actions, Asahi’s glad. Glad that they have this shared bond, glad that Nishinoya trusts him enough to touch him in a way he won’t touch anyone else. 

Glad to be close to Nishinoya, even if the libero doesn’t mean the contact in the way Asahi wishes he did.

  
***

With the team up to full strength, Daichi wants to take baseline stats. They do it every spring and fall; it’s a helpful way to keep track of how much they’ve grown and improved each year.

The boys traipse to the nurse’s office to have their height and weight measured (Asahi tops the team’s weight list, although not height; Nishinoya bottoms out both lists), then it’s back to the gym to do the rest of the stats: Fingertip height, jump height, tip-to-tip wingspan. 

Asahi lines up with the rest of them to take his crack at the basketball back-board, fingers whitened with chalk dust. Nishinoya stands by with Shimizu, ready to steady her as she climbs the ladder to take the measurements. He’s the only one bare-backed, which no one notices other than Asahi until it’s time for him to take his run-up and he still doesn’t manifest his wings.

“C’mon Nishinoya, make an effort,” calls Coach, who hasn’t been here in previous years, who doesn’t know that Nishinoya never brings out his wings, not even for measurements. Daichi goes over and whispers something to him; he taps his foot but waves his hand permissively. Nishinoya takes his run-up and jump bare-backed, barely managing to touch the board. 

Hinata seems about to say something, so Asahi leaps in to avoid disaster: “Nice, Nishinoya. Are you going to help Shimizu-san with the measuring?”

Nishinoya gives him a thumbs up and a grin. “You bet! Kiyoko-saaaaan, let me help!” He jogs over to the manager, who’s already getting out the retractable measuring tape used by the track team for long-jump. 

Asahi lines up behind Hinata, his chocolate-brown wings nearly a meter longer on each side than the decoy’s ochre ones. 

Shimizu and Nishinoya go down the line starting with Daichi, Shimizu at one end of the long spread of his wings and Nishinoya at the other holding the end of the tape measure. Shimizu calls out the measurements to Coach, who makes notes for her. Really, thinks Asahi, they need another manager. 

They work their way down the line, each boy straining to stretch his primaries to their full length, the tips shivering with the effort. When they’re done they retract their wings and huddle, cheering on the rest of their teammates. 

Tsukishima, unsurprisingly, has the longest reach, his gold feathers shining under the gym’s fluorescents. 

“Nice, Tsukki!” says Yamaguchi, earning himself a half-hearted glare. 

“It’s just physiology,” replies the middle blocker in a bored tone, dispelling his wings. “The taller you are, the wider your wingspan.” 

“Noya-san! Your turn,” crows Hinata when they reach the end of the line. 

Really, the boy _is_ slow, thinks Asahi. 

The reason behind Nishinoya’s preference for not showing his wings is unclear to any of them, but the second and third years have all accepted it as fact. 

“Hinata,” he begins cautiously. Nishinoya beats him to it.

“I’m a man of mystery, Shouyou,” he proclaims, thumbing towards his back. “What’s a man of mystery without a secret?” 

Hinata’s eyes sparkle. “Woooah, so cool!” He jumps up and double high-fives Nishinoya. The rest of the team roll their eyes as Hinata continues to babble about how awesome his senpai are.

Asahi, standing off to the side, wonders: _what secret?_

  
***

Asahi’s not good at making conversation. It’s one of the things he likes about Nishinoya – the libero can spin up an engaging discussion anywhere, any time.

They walk home together talking about anything and everything – volleyball, classes, volleyball, Shimizu, and volleyball. Nishinoya walks with his fingers woven together behind his head, elbows high. He’s so confident, so sure of himself. Asahi wonders what it would be like to always be so self-assured. 

“ – so I said, ‘I may be small, but I’ll grow. But in two years you’ll still be an asshole!’” Nishinoya throws his head back and laughs; Asahi can’t help but notice the pale skin of his throat, the smooth line of it dipping down beneath his collar. Nishinoya is the least fragile person Asahi knows, but he _looks_ delicate, looks small and fine-boned. 

Looks awfully attractive.

Asahi swallows and tries to shift his attention to something less terrifyingly wrong. “E-earlier,” he begins, voice breaking awkwardly. Nishinoya looks up, dark eyes sharp in the afternoon sun. “You said you had a secret. Is that really how you feel?”

Nishinoya’s lips slide into a coy smile. “Asahi-san, am I making you curious? Wanna delve under my cover?”

He feels his face reddening. “N-no! I just… I never knew you thought about it that way. I always figured… you had some reason,” he says, lamely, looking down at his feet. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

“You’re adorable,” chortles Nishinoya, and slaps him on the back. “I get asked all the time – you know that, right?”

Asahi blinks. “Really?”

“Sure. Not just by well-meaning idiots like Shouyou, either. But it’s my secret, and I’m going to keep it. Even from you,” he adds, voice softening. 

“It’s definitely your choice,” sputters Asahi hurriedly. “I won’t force you.”

Nishinoya gives him a thoughtful look. “You know, Asahi-san, you’re probably the one person who could.”

Asahi swallows, gut twisting. “Well I won’t. Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Thanks man! I knew I could count on you!”

  
***

Asahi’s still a little bemused by his friendship with Nishinoya. Before second-year in high school his friends had all been his age – either casual study pals, or volleyball teammates. But he’s never done a good job with building relationships; he lives too much inside his own head, he knows, is too tentative when reaching out to others.

Nishinoya had turned that on its head his first day in the club. He had marched straight in at the head of the other second-years, planted his feet on the ground, and firmly proclaimed: “Nishinoya Yuu, from Chidoriyama Middle School. Position: Libero. I’m the best damn libero in the prefecture, so you’d better get ready to rumble!”

His enthusiasm, his confidence, his _volume_ had all been shocking. But on the court, his skill had been undeniable. And after the first hour of practice during a break he had come straight up to Asahi, his senpai, and said out of the blue: “You’re the team’s ace, aren’t you? Have more faith in yourself!”

Asahi had floundered like a fish on dry land. “W-w-what?” 

“Your play is great, but when you’re not focused on the ball you’re a wreck. You need more confidence, man!”

“I’m confident enough.”

And Nishinoya had laughed. Actually thrown his head back and _guffawed_. “Asahi-san, you look like you’re afraid of your own shadow. You need someone to take you under their wing. What about the senpai?”

They had both looked over at the four senpai huddled close together, drinking sports drink and chatting. A closed, uninviting group. Even Nishinoya seemed to sense it. 

“Alright then, I guess it’ll be me,” he said, thumbing at his chest. “If you forget how great you are, I’ll be there to remind you!”

Asahi still remembers the way the libero had grinned, so invested in a boy he’d only just met. They’ve been close friends ever since, Nishinoya bringing the energy and the risk-taking to their friendship, Asahi a cool head and patience. They compliment each other well; both entirely comfortable around the other. 

And yet, he still doesn’t know why of all the guys on the team, Nishinoya singled him out for attention. 

And worse still, he’s utterly terrified of what Nishinoya would think if he found out just how much Asahi wants that attention.

  
***

Practice is going well. Kageyama and Hinata have hit their rhythm; Suga and Ennoshita are working well together on the opposite side of the court. Asahi’s on the back line with Tsukishima and Nishinoya, working on his receives.

From the other side of the net, Daichi spikes a ball towards the ground near Asahi; he moves towards it but out of the corner of his eye sees a white and black blur:

“Rooooolling Thundeeeeer!” Nishinoya rolls across the court, catches the ball on his forearm sending it upwards, and slams right into Asahi’s legs. Asahi, overbalanced from reaching for the ball, goes down and they end up in an awkward heap of limbs and feathers, Asahi top-most. Somewhere in the distance in the heart of a sudden silence, he hears the ball hit the floor. 

He blinks his eyes open and finds that he’s lying on top of Nishinoya, pancaking the libero into the ground. Nishinoya’s body is hot under him, his hips pinned down by Asahi’s, his eyes closed. 

Asahi leaps up, wings giving two furious beats to lift him, the backdraft ruffling Nishinoya’s hair and blowing his t-shirt up over his stomach. 

“Nishinoya? Shit – I’m sorry – are you okay?”

Nishinoya opens his eyes and looks up, grinning. “Sure, no problem. It’d take more than a softie like you to crush me.” He crawls out from under Asahi and gives him a thumb’s up. 

Asahi lets out a relieved sigh. His thighs still feel hot from where they were straddling Nishinoya; his heart is beating a mile a minute. He gets awkwardly to his feet, then leans down and offers a hand to the libero, pulling him up easily. 

“You both okay?” calls Coach from the sidelines, hands on his hips.

They look over and nod.

“Good. Then pay some more attention in the future!”

Nishinoya brushes his hand against the tips of Asahi’s primaries, a gentle touch. “Sorry Asahi-san. I’ll be more careful.”

“Um. Right,” he says, turning to watch as Nishinoya re-takes his place on the back line. 

His feathers are shivering.

  
***

Asahi can’t stop thinking about Nishinoya’s warm body pinned beneath him. He thinks about it while practice winds up; while they clean the gym; while he and Nishinoya walk home.

(“Hey, Asahi-san, you okay? You’re mondo spacing out, man.”

“Oh, uh, no. I’m fine.”)

He thinks about it during dinner, and during his bath, and after he turns the light out and crawls into bed. Thinks about the flash of Nishinoya’s throat and the sight of his toned stomach and the beauty of his closed eyes. He swallows thickly, warmth flooding his body and centering low in his stomach. Face flushed with secret shame, Asahi’s hand twitches lower, lower. Fingers slide over his stomach and slip beneath the waistband of his boxers. He bites his lip, head tilted back, mind focused on one thing only:

Nishinoya. 

Nishinoya, his best friend. Nishinoya, who trusts him more than anyone else. 

Nishinoya, who he’s in love with.

_Fuck._

  
***

Asahi has no idea how anyone else would handle the knowledge that they’re in love with their best friend, but he handles it _badly_. He’s already inside his own head too much, already too timid, too preoccupied with the what-ifs.

When Nishinoya appears around the corner the next morning to say hi, he spills out the can coffee he was drinking all down his uniform.

“Uh oh, that looks nasty. If we run, you can wash it out before it sets.” Nishinoya grabs his hand and pulls him through the streets, Asahi stumbling behind. His hand feels like it’s on fire; his _face_ feels like it’s on fire. Nishinoya drags him all the way to school, refusing to let go of his hand. When they arrive there he pins Asahi to the wall and strips his jacket off him in the bathroom, all hands and a huge grin.

Asahi thinks he might just faint. 

But then Nishinoya’s got the jacket and he’s washing the coffee stain out under the tap, leaving Asahi a moment to himself to cool down. 

“You okay? You look all hot and bothered,” says Nishinoya, glancing at him in the mirror. 

Asahi jerks his head up. “What? No – just – just out of breath…”

“We gotta get running more then! That was barely a 10 minute jog!”

“Probably just the heat,” says Asahi vaguely. Nishinoya goes back to washing his jacket for him. When he’s done the front is soaking and he wrings it out, leaving it damp and wrinkled. 

“Huh. Still looks pretty shitty,” he says. “Oh well, it’ll dry.” He tosses it back to Asahi. “Ready for morning practice?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Practice feels like torture. He can’t stop watching Nishinoya, can’t stop noticing the flash of his thighs when he jumps, or the peep of his stomach or lower back when he dives. Can’t stop the hunger roiling in his gut. It puts him off his game, badly, to the point that he serves straight into the net twice and misses a toss from Suga. 

“Maybe you should take it easy, Asahi,” suggests the vice-captain. “You’re in pretty rough shape today.”

“I’m fine,” he says, but what he really wants to do is crawl away and bury himself in a hole somewhere. 

“Well maybe just work on your receiving with Noya.” Suga catches the shadow that flashes over his face. “Problem?”

“No! No. Receiving with Nishinoya. Right.”

He turns around without looking, and the libero slams right into his wings. Nishinoya pushes himself out as though digging out from snow, his hands buried in Asahi’s thick feathers, his fingers stroking through them. 

Asahi jerks away sharply, the sensation overwhelming. It’s impossibly sweet, impossibly _sensual._

“Asahi-san?”

He retracts his wings and peels away. “Sorry – gotta go – see you later.” He’s already stumbling out of the gym even as Nishinoya shouts after him.

  
***

He ends up on the roof. It’s where the second and third years eat lunch and shoot the shit. The east wing has become the volleyball club’s haunt and the other students mostly leave them alone now.

30 minutes before class starts it’s deserted, just Asahi and his inappropriate, _gross_ feelings. He sits by the ankle-high bar at the edge of the roof watching the other clubs practice out on the field, his knees drawn up to his chest. After a while he hears the roof access door open; he doesn’t look around. 

“Asahi-san? Is this where you’re hiding?”

It’s Nishinoya. Of course it is. Asahi draws his knees in closer as he hears quiet steps cross the concrete roof. 

Nishinoya sits down next to him, looking out over the field as well. After a minute he says: “You gonna tell me why you’re so weird today?”

Asahi keeps his eyes on the schoolyard. “Really, I’d rather not.”

“That’s kind of lame, Asahi-san.”

“I’m kind of lame, Nishinoya. Haven’t you noticed?”

A hand reaches out and grabs his shirt; Asahi is dragged to the side where Nishinoya is glaring at him. “Don’t say that kind of crap. You’re the team’s ace; you’re big and smart and kind as fuck. Everyone looks up to you; everyone wants to be friends with you. We’re going to go to Nationals this year, and you’re going to be our star player. You’ve got it all, Asahi. Don’t you dare throw it away like it’s nothing.”

 _Don’t you dare give up on a ball I keep in play_. Asahi can still hear the words clearly, still remembers the last time Nishinoya tore into him. The first time Nishinoya tore into him. 

“Nishinoya…” he closes his eyes, lets out a breath. Tries to find his calm. “Sorry.”

The grip on his shirt is released. When he opens his eyes, Nishinoya’s smiling. “You’re such a huge goober, Asahi-san. If you don’t wanna tell me what’s bothering you, you don’t have to. Just stop beating yourself up, okay?”

He forces a smile. “Okay.”

  
***

It gets a little easier. They eat lunch together, all the second and third-years on the roof, eating first and then fooling around and rough-housing. They have class, break, cleaning time. They practice, and Asahi manages to make it not weird somehow.

Lather, rinse, repeat. 

The summer Inter-High is coming up, the first test of their new team. They’re practicing harder than ever because this time, this year, they can sense that something’s different. They’ve shed their insular, pessimistic senpai and have taken on some real talent. 

They could be something, this year. 

Naturally, with intense pressure comes strange venting of steam. Hinata and Kageyama bicker like an old married couple; Tsukiyama laughs at every inappropriate moment; Tanaka and Nishinoya make a joke out of everything. They all eat meat buns and popsicles together after practice; they rough-house on the roof at lunch hour. 

Nishinoya, weirdly, mostly stays out of the wrestling matches, but he cheers lustily while Tanaka and Ennoshita drag Suga and Daichi into their game. Asahi is generally content to watch and, occasionally, scold mildly when things seem to be getting out of hand. 

Today, surprisingly, Hinata and Kageyama have joined them. The first years usually eat lunch in their classrooms; they have their own friendships and haven’t yet signed their souls over lock stock and barrel to the club like their upperclassmen have. But Tanaka invites them up and today they come, eating like locusts. Kageyama steals Hinata’s octopus sausage and the bickering starts – first raised voices, then smacks, then full-on wrestling. Asahi stands to get out of their way while Tanaka jumps into the fray, eagerly helping Hinata to try to pin Kageyama to the ground. 

They’re near the edge of the roof, which Asahi doesn’t really notice; there’s an ankle-high pipe that runs around the perimeter to keep people from skidding off inadvertently, and at only three stories it’s an easy glide down to the ground. 

Tanaka and Kageyama are really going at it, Nishinoya cheerleading from somewhere nearby, but Asahi thinks the second-year is going in too hard – they’re all so full of testosterone lately, and that makes you do weird shit; Asahi’s in advanced biology and he knows. So he ducks in to try to pull Tanaka off at the same time that Kageyama kicks him back; Tanaka staggers back and elbows Asahi right in the face. 

Asahi stumbles, his ankle hits the pipe at the edge of the roof, and he loses his balance. 

It would still have been okay, if he hadn’t hit his head on the way down. But he does, striking it hard on the metal pipe, and for an instant the world seems to explode into blinding silence. 

Then sound and daylight snap back in; someone’s holding his wrists, shouting at him. 

“Fly, dammit, Asahi – _fly!_ ”

Asahi blinks and sees Nishinoya standing on the edge of the roof above him holding his arms. 

Behind him, arching upwards from his back, are a pair of stunted, twisted wings. They look like plastic that melted in the microwave, like umbrella rods that have been bent out of shape by the wind, arthritic and nobbled and painful. 

Nishinoya’s beating them like a hurricane, trying to hold Asahi up. 

Then Asashi’s own wings are sliding out of his back, taking on his weight and lifting him until he regains the rooftop. Nishinoya backs up to make space for him, his fingers slipping away from Asahi’s wrists. 

Asahi looks at Nishinoya, at the ruin of his wings. And then past him, at the rest of the team. 

Every single one of them is staring at Nishinoya like he just grew a second head. Nishinoya turns, and all of the sudden Asahi wants to hug him, wants to pull him away from their eyes and hide him beneath his jacket, in his shadow. 

“Well,” says Nishinoya, in the quietest voice Asahi has ever heard from him. “Now you know.” He shudders as the wings slip into his back – it shouldn’t hurt, but it clearly does – and then turns. A moment later, he’s gone, the click of the door echoing behind him. 

“Go after him, Asahi,” says Suga. But he’s already going.

  
***

It’s not hard to predict where the libero will go. The gym’s in use by the basketball club today, the school full of students, the playing field busy with club activities. Their one sanctuary is the club room, always empty at lunch.

Asahi’s long legs carry him across the school grounds to the outbuilding that houses the club rooms and up the metal stairs. He puts his hand on the knob; unlocked. 

Nishinoya’s standing inside, looking out the window back towards the main school building. With the lights off Asahi can only see his silhouette: small, fragile, delicate.

But Nishinoya is none of those things. He steps in. “I’m sorry,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “You didn’t want us to know.”

Nishinoya shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, I guess.” His voice is flat, dull. 

“It clearly is. You have a right to your privacy.”

“It’s…” Nishinoya turns. His face is tight with a mess of emotions: confusion, grief, anger. “I never wanted it to weigh me down. I wanted to be more than my deformity, more than my broken wings. I picked a sport, a position where I could play without them – where I could _shine_ without them. To be the one person on a team of winged giants who didn’t need wings – I thought that was pretty cool.”

“It _is_ cool, Nishinoya. It’s more than that – it’s incredible. You’ve outplayed every other libero we’ve met, and you’ve done it on your own terms.”

“I never wanted you to know.”

“Why not?”

Nishinoya looks up, meeting Asahi’s eyes. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

He moves without thinking, with only intention. Crosses the distance between them and puts his hands on Nishinoya’s shoulders. “I will _never_ think less of you. You’ve been the best friend that I could ever have – you’ve been so much more than I ever deserved. I don’t care if your wings are injured – I wouldn’t care if they were missing altogether, or if they were bright pink!”

Nishinoya smiles, just a tiny crook of his lips. 

“You’ve always been there for me, ever since the moment we’ve met. I’ve never understood why you set so much store by me, Nishinoya. But I will never do anything to endanger our friendship.”

Nishinoya puts his hand on top of Asahi’s. “Thanks man.” His fingers are warm and rough, calloused from play. 

Asahi blushes and pulls away, suddenly aware just how close he is to Nishinoya. 

“And it’s not an injury. I was born like this. I’ll always be this way. So I guess I should get used to it.”

“You should do exactly what it is you want to do,” replies Asahi fiercely. “Don’t change for anyone but yourself.”

“Wow, Asahi-san, you’re really starting to sound like me.”

“That’s how you know it’s good advice,” replies Asahi with a smile.

  
***

They return to the roof where the rest of the guys are finishing their lunches quietly, unnaturally subdued.

“Hey,” announces Nishinoya straightforwardly, when they reappear. “Sorry about getting weird. I’ve got a rare condition that fucked up my wings. They don’t work. Never have; never will. So I don’t use them. It’s not a big deal. The end.”

“NOYA-SAAAN!” cry both Hinata and Tanaka together, running over to throw themselves on the libero. The three of them roll on the ground in one big pool of rampant regret and apology. Asahi steps around them, returning to where his own lunch sits, forgotten. 

“Nishinoya, _we’re_ sorry for getting weird,” says Daichi when the idiot trio breaks apart; Suga and Ennoshita both nod fervently. 

Nishinoya thumbs at his nose. “Eh, it’s okay. Must’ve been pretty shocking. I used to make girls cry in elementary school. Fun times,” he says, nostalgically. 

“Noya-san, you are _eternally cool_ ,” says Tanaka, in awe. 

“Thanks Ryuu!”

Asahi feels someone tap his shoulder and turns. Suga’s there, smiling. “Good job, Asahi,” he says. “Thanks for bringing him back.”

Asahi nods. “You’re welcome.”

  
***

“I guess I’m not a man of mystery anymore,” says Nishinoya, on the walk home.

“Huh? Oh, I guess…” Asahi wonders whether he was actually invested in it, or whether it was just a convenient excuse. “You could always find another secret,” he says.

Nishinoya knits his fingers together behind his head. “Nah. I’m complete shit at keeping secrets. You’re way better at it.”

Asahi blinks. “Me?”

“Sure. The whatever-it-is-we’re-not-talking-about secret,” says Nishinoya, completely relaxed. “I know you’re trying hard not to wig out, but I can see it happening sometimes still when you look at me. It’s just me, isn’t it?”

“Um,” says Asahi. “No? Yes?”

“I guess that’s what I get for prying,” replies Nishinoya easily, grinning at the sky. “I’m just dicking around, Asahi-san. You don’t have to tell me.”

Just being here walking next to him, hearing him talk about _the secret_ so casually is making Asahi’s head spin. His chest is aching and he can’t tell if it’s with love or fear. 

He wants to tell Nishinoya. Wants to tell him _so badly_. And yet, he’s utterly terrified of the consequences. As always, terror wins. 

“Thanks,” he says, dully. 

“Well, here’s my house. See ya tomorrow!”

Asahi gives him a forced smile and carries on towards home.

  
***

Asahi unfolds his wings in the bathroom that night and just looks at them. At the small ruffled coverts, at the stocky secondaries, at the long spear-like primaries. At the glossiness of his feathers and the grandness and stature of the wings themselves.

Nishinoya’s tiny, deformed ones spring suddenly into his mind. They had been dropping feathers as if in moult, matte black and lifeless. 

He remembers what it feels like to have Nishinoya touch his wings – the feeling of his fingers in Asahi’s feathers. The amazing intimacy of it, the way it makes him feel closer to Nishinoya than he’s ever been to anyone. He wonders whether Nishinoya has been touching his wings all this time because he envies Asahi them, envies their power, their normalcy. 

Well, probably. After all, what else could it be?

  
***

The next day is Saturday; just a half-day of practice. Nishinoya is reliable as ever, rolling and diving and digging balls like nothing happened yesterday. Asahi works hard to make every one count. The other guys are a study in normalcy; the only place the cracks show is Hinata’s over-wide grin and Tanaka’s too-loud cheering. But it’s close enough to every day practice, close enough that hopefully Nishinoya isn’t phased.

Asahi shakes his head. As if something like this could phase the libero.

They wrap up practice, clean the gym and put away the equipment, and head out into the mild late spring morning. It’s overcast today, shadows painted faintly on the ground. Nishinoya, who has been known to eat popsicles in January, stops by Sakanoshita to buy one, Asahi waiting outside and waving goodbye to the rest of the team as they split up. When Nishinoya returns, it’s just the two of them.

“Hey, where’d the other guys go?” He unwraps his GariGari-kun and eats the blue popsicle in two huge bites, then licks his lips while Asahi stares. He chews on the end of the stick, the wood bobbing in his mouth.

“Oh, uh, they went home.”

“Those bastards.” He sucks at the popsicle stick, cheeks hollowing; Asahi swallows and looks away, stomach churning what feels like molten lava. 

Nishinoya slaps his back. “Well, it’s just you and me then! Whaddya want to do?”

The list of things he wants to do with Nishinoya – wants to do _to_ Nishinoya is long. He coughs to clear his suddenly-tight throat, looking at the ground. “The park?” he suggests, at a loss for anything else.

“Old-fashioned. I like it.” Nishinoya leads the way to the local park; with the clouds overhead growing heavier there are just a couple of kids playing on the spring animals, the rest of the space empty. There’s a square shelter with a covered platform; Asahi sits on it while Nishinoya attempts hand-stands on the dirt ground. His shirt keeps riding higher and higher, revealing more and more skin as he gets closer to vertical. Asahi keeps his eyes firmly on Nishinoya’s face.

Inevitably, volleyball isn’t far from either of their minds. After only a couple of minutes Nishinoya straightens. “Wanna practice receives?”

“…We don’t have a ball,” points out Asahi.

“My house is just a few minutes away. I can run and grab one.”

“Okay.”

He sits quietly while Nishinoya sprints off, watching his back. He wonders if he should be doing more to try to fight his dangerous feelings, his traitorous heart. Whether if he tried harder, he could quash the butterflies in his gut, the searing in his chest. Whether he could cure himself of this love sickness. 

Asahi has a feeling, though, that there’s no cure for this disease.

Nishinoya’s back in only a few minutes, breathing hard with a ball under his arm. Asahi stands and they start passing it back and forth: toss, bump, spike, receive. 

“Aren’t you gonna use your wings?” asks Nishinoya after a few minutes, rising from catching a low straight. 

“I don’t need them,” replies Asahi.

Nishinoya frowns, tossing the ball back at Asahi, hard. “So you’re not taking me seriously?”

Asahi fumbles to catch it. “No! No – but… I thought you wouldn’t want to see them.”

“Huh? Why?”

“It just seemed… unkind. Like showing off,” says Asahi, trying to piece together what he feels in a way that’s inoffensive. 

“Why? Because of my crappy wings? I don’t resent you – your wings are beautiful! And I guess yeah, I wish mine were too, but seeing yours makes me… happy.”

Asahi swallows. Then, slowly, he manifests his wings. They slip out of his back, large and chocolate-feathered, casting a faint shadow on the ground. 

Nishinoya steps over, reaches out, and gently pats the inner curve of Asahi’s secondaries, the feathers trembling beneath his touch. 

“Nishinoya…”

Nishinoya looks up at him. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Asahi-san. You know that, right?”

“That’s – that’s not the kind of thing you can just _say_ ,” says Asahi, distressed, heart racing. 

“Why not? If Daichi-san can say it to Suga-san…”

“But… that’s different.”

Nishinoya’s forehead creases. “Is it? Why?”

Asahi’s face is tomato-red. He can feel it, feel his skin burning up. He wishes the earth would open up and swallow him, that lightning would fall from the sky and fry him. “They’re in love, Nishinoya,” he says, words barely audible. 

Nishinoya runs his fingers over the ends of Asahi’s primaries, the touch like nails down his spine. Asahi shivers. “You don’t think I love you enough?” he asks. 

Asahi drops the volleyball. It hits the ground and rolls away, unnoticed. 

“You… what?”

“It’s kinda obvious, Asahi-san. I haven’t exactly been hiding it. I thought you knew.” 

Asahi can feel himself gaping.

“You didn’t know? Geez, and you’re supposed to be the smart one! I’ve been crushing on you since we first met.”

“You, but – _why?_ ”

Nishinoya tilts his head to the side. “Why? I told you before – you’re big and smart and kinder than anyone else I know. You’re such a fucking sweetheart, and it kills me that you don’t feel appreciated for it. All I want to do is support you, Asahi-san.”

He opens his mouth to reply, and the first drop of rain hits him square in the forehead. An instant later it’s joined by hundreds of others as the sky opens up. Asahi raises his wings and draws Nishinoya in under their shelter. He puts his hands on Nishinoya’s shoulders and draws him into a tight embrace. The libero fists his hands in the back of Asahi’s club jacket. “I want you so much I don’t know what to do about it,” admits Asahi, shakily. 

Nishinoya looks up, cheeks pink, eyes dark. “Can I kiss you?”

Asahi gives a sharp bob of his head, words caught in his throat, and bends down. Nishinoya’s lips are soft and moist and _perfect_. Kissing him sends warmth flooding Asahi from head to toe, leaves him shaky and light-headed. His wings flutter and rain pours in, soaking them both. Nishinoya laughs and gives his wings a light shove. “C’mon, you’re getting soaked.” He pulls Asahi in under the shelter, the both of them clambering up onto the wooden platform.

The playground is deserted now, just the two of them alone in the rain. Asahi draws Nishinoya in closer with his wing; the libero reaches out and runs the back of his hand softly through the feathers. Asahi sucks in a breath and he grins.

“Feel good?”

“It feels amazing, Nishinoya,” replies Asahi, shaken. It occurs to him that Nishinoya must have no idea how it feels. “Do you want – can I touch yours?”

Nishinoya blinks. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says doubtfully. “They’re all messed up.”

“That doesn’t matter. They’re a part of you – and I want to know all of you.”

“ _Such_ a fucking sweetheart,” mutters Nishinoya. But he tenses, face briefly pained. Twisted wings rip from his back through the slit in his jacket, bones crooked, joints thick with unnecessary cartilage. His feathers are midnight black, but dull rather than glossy as if unwashed and poking out at odd angles. Several slip free and fall silently onto the wood of the platform beneath them. He gives a light pant and looks up at Asahi. 

“I know, gross right?”

“They’re not gross, Nishinoya. Not at all.” He reaches out carefully and strokes the pads of his fingers against the line of the radius, watching Nishinoya’s face for any sign of pain. Seeing none he draws his hand down into the body of the wing, fingers digging lightly between thick plumage. Nishinoya shudders and he freezes. “Don’t stop.” The libero’s voice is breathy, his eyes bright. Asahi keeps going, pulls his fingers all the way down to the bottom of the wings and then runs his palm along the tips of the secondaries and primaries, ruffling them. Nishinoya’s face is slack with bliss. It makes Asahi’s heart constrict, makes him want to kiss the smaller boy senseless. 

Nishinoya lets out a deep breath when Asahi’s hand reaches the end of his wings. He looks up at Asahi, eyes wide and hungry. 

“You’re beautiful,” Asahi tells him. “All of you.”

Nishinoya smiles, then punches him in the arm (lightly). “You’re a huge nerd, Asahi. But I love you.”

END


End file.
